Time Heals
by wildegreenlight
Summary: "He knew he was a horrible, greedy git. He should've been more than satisfied to get any little scraps of her time, but he truly couldn't help himself." HBP Missing moment featuring my favorite clueless dorks squeezed into a tiny hospital bed.


Most people underestimated Ron Weasley, but today he felt like a ruddy genius. He couldn't take credit for the entire situation- it wasn't like it was his idea to go and get himself near poisoned to death. Not the he might not have tried something that desperate- if he'd known how it would've turned out. Aside from a very sore throat and some guilt for making his family worry, being poisoned hadn't been all that bad. Really there had been all kinds of advantages: he got to have loads of ice cream (for medicinal reasons of course), stay in bed all day, miss classes, avoid _certain people_...have Hermione all to himself. _There_, _he'd went and thought it right out loud. Well, it wasn't like he could deny it anymore, not to himself, anyway. _He doubted he was doing a good job of keeping it from anyone at all, including her.

When he first woke up to find her: a red-nosed, puffy-eyed vision of pure beauty, he couldn't quite convince himself that she was really there. But then she'd started prattling along faster than a pack of Cornish pixies after a shot of treacle, and he knew it was real He could only make out bits of what she'd said, he'd like to blame it on the after-effects of his physical trauma, but the truth was that he was just so relieved to find her looking _at him_ and talking _to him_ without a trace of anger that all his energy went into soaking up every last bit of it. At one point he did make out a word, it was _Sorry_. He froze. Hermione hated to apologize, even more than he did. For months he had fantasized about a scenario much like the one playing out in front of him: a teary Hermione throwing herself at him, begging him to forgive her for...for..._for what exactly_. _Yeah, those birds had hurt way more than he'd like to admit, but other than that why should she be sorry? For not talking to him? Hell, he'd given her the cold shoulder for a week for a two-year-old hidden snog; could he really blame her for...well, for any of it? _Guilt lodged in his throat, harder to swallow than any bezoar. Suddenly he felt the weight of wasted time. He wanted to stop her tears with the perfect words, but neither his addled brain nor his injured throat could supply them, so he did the best he could: gripping her hand, he rasped, "No...M'sorry."

Instead of stopping her tears, this seemed to produce even more, along with sputterings of "You shouldn't try talking just yet," and something his rapidly beating heart prayed was, "I thought I'd lost you!"

It had hit him then, really, how serious it had been. Not just the poisoning, because in all honesty when you're used to narrowly escaping death every year "mortal peril" just doesn't pack quite the same punch anymore, but his estrangement from Hermione. They'd obviously had fights before; they'd even gone for long stretches without talking in the past, so he'd just assumed that this time would be no different. Even as the weeks stretched on, he had stubbornly held to his belief that sooner or later she would see the error of her ways. It seemed so ridiculous now, _why had he been such an arse?_ _He could've died without making it right. _Death was not nearly as frightening to him as life without Hermione.

So they had smoothed it over, on the surface, like his mum frosting a chocolate cake, careful to cover any imperfections, never scraping the layers underneath. She visited him often, more often than anyone but Pomfrey knew, but it still wasn't quite enough. He searched for any reason to encourage her visits: asking her about her parents, his missed prefect duties, Harry's obsessions, his missed lessons.

In classic Hermione fashion she had taken his missed school-work as her own personal mission. For a day or two he half expected her to make buttons _EGG: Educating Gitty Gingers _or the _Weasley Education Taskforce: WET_. He'd almost given himself a heart attack at the thought of a gleaming _WET _pin on her jumper or worse yet, a _WET _tshirt stretched across her chest.

Her efforts were met with a ferocity of learning the likes of which she had never seen. However, his overeagerness to curry her favor had nearly backfired on him. A week or so into their tutoring sessions she'd announced, beaming at him, "You're doing brilliantly! You'll be caught up in no time at all!"

_Shit._ That wouldn't do-not at all. And though he couldn't stop his chest from puffing up at her praise, he mentally began preparing for a new phase to his plan. He could not, would not, lose such a solid excuse to have her with him. So, he wasn't proud to admit it, he began to play thick. It wasn't as easy as it sounds either...he couldn't be too obvious about it; he couldn't have her thinking he was hopeless, but he began to "struggle" an appropriate amount with the new material and "forget" a little of the old. _So sorry 'Ermione, all these potions must be messing with my memory. _She was so patient with him, never nagging or becoming frustrated. If he hadn't known better, he may have thought that she was enjoying it as much as he was.

He knew he was a horrible, greedy git. He should've been more than satisfied to get any little scraps of her time, but he truly couldn't help himself. He figured it would be bad enough anyway, but when you accounted for all the time he'd missed - well, he hadn't even broken even yet.

It wasn't just about time either; there was also proximity. At first it had been like bloody Christmas just to have her in the same room, but soon he found, again, that it wasn't quite good enough. So again he'd taken matters into his own hands, literally moving the chair closer to his bed before she visited, every day a few precious inches closer.

But today he had a new plan-genius really. If it worked, he just might...well, he hadn't really gotten that far yet.

Checking his watch: first for the time, then for assurance that it was working properly _Really how could the hour before she came be slower than a History of Magic lecture?!_ He was rewarded with the sound of her coming through the doors. He sat up straighter, clasping his hands together to keep them still.

"Hi," she crossed, as usual, to stand at the foot of his bed.

"Hi." Was it even possible that she could look so beautiful? For a moment he wouldn't open his mouth, afraid that he would ask the question aloud.

"Have you eaten yet?" She held up a small bundle, "I brought you a couple of things in case you were hungry."

"Brilliant! I did eat a while ago, but I could have a nosh in a bit." He wasn't about to waste time eating, not yet anyway.

"Alright. I'll just put it over here until you're ready."

"Thanks."

Hermione sat in the chair next to his bed, it was so comically close that it must have been difficult to maneuver. She did not, however, make any attempt to move it away even though her shoulder was actually brushing up against his arm.

"I thought we'd start with Potions if that's alright," she looked at him hesitantly, "that's the longest."

"That's great!" her quizzical look made him internally reprimand himself: _Damnit! Excited for Potions?! That's not a dead giveaway...nooooo...not all! _"But..ummm...I don't have my book."

"You don't? What happened to it?"

"Not sure. Harry must've grabbed it by mistake when he was here earlier. You know how rattled he is lately." _At least that last part's not complete rubbish._

"No bother.. We can just share mine."

She brought the textbook out of her bag, placing it on the side of the bed next to his hip, "Hmmm..that's not a good angle for you, now is it?"

Ron shook his head in mock sadness, "Not really." Hermione looked puzzled, trying to find a solution, one that he had sussed out days ago, "What if you, well, you could comeuphere." He slid to the right and patted the mattress beside him.

"Are you sure?" Her voice was soft and hesitant, and he thought about abandoning his plan for a second, "I don't want to hurt you." _Hurt him? She was killing him, but he bloody loved it!_

"Doubt very seriously that you can take me out when poison, giant spiders, and death eaters couldn't finish the job."

"Or the twins."

The laughter broke from them both, easing the awkwardness as she climbed onto the bed beside him. Over the last week he had cursed the narrowness of it many times, but now he lifted praises to whatever genius had designed them. Honestly, his plan could not have worked better, he thought.

Here they were together, her right side deliciously, agonizingly pressed into his left side. Nothing between them but a couple of thin layers of clothing. He could feel her hair tickle the top of his arm, right where the sleeve ended. When she opened the book and placed in on their adjacent laps _may as well be one lap, a singular lap _her fingers brushed the top of his outer thigh. It was perfect. She was as close to him as was altogether decent, he had her sole attention, there were no interruptions: it was everything he had wanted. Inwardly he relished in the moment, careful not to sigh contentedly aloud.

Now he could just sit back and learn the lesson at hand _not too quickly, of course. _All he had to do was focus on the points in the text that Hermione was talking about. _Yep...just focus._ Hermione shifted the tiniest bit and her knee _her very naked knee_ peeked out from under her skirt and burrowed itself just above his. _Must be too warm for tights...that must mean..._he chanced a peek over the top of the book to confirm his hypothesis: she had indeed slipped off her shoes, leaving her bare feet mere inches from his own.

Suddenly that tiny space between them seemed unbearable. Just a minute ago he had been completely satisfied, but now...he wanted...more. He knew a sudden move would never do, he had to be smart about this. _Distraction, that could work._

"So..umm...the Boomslang skin...do you chop it or shred it?"

"That's actually a great question," she furrowed her brow and pointed to a spot in the text, "it actually depends on exactly how long you want the potion to last. Shredding it allows for a quicker absorption and therefore it dissipates in the system quicker. Chopping means it is slower to take effect, but longer-lasting."

Her answer was very thorough, but he heard very little of it. The entirety of his cognitive processes were concentrated on moving his left foot slowly, almost imperceptibly across the cool cotton blanket until it rested _just beside, barely touching _her own.

"Fascinating," he hoped his voice sounded much more steady and convincing to her ears than it did to his own. It must have because she gave him a warm smile, giving no hint of pulling away.

"You have to be careful though, when you shred it," she turned her right hand palm up on top of the book, "it's very prickly."

In the middle of her palm, he could just make out three tiny red marks. Laying his side of the book down, he took her hand in both of his. Before any logic could interfere he'd brought the wound close to his face to investigate. Her quick intake of breath stopped him from proceeding with whatever automatic action his body had initiated.

"Does it hurt?" Still holding her hand, he strove to show her the genuineness of his concern for her.

"A little," she was blinking in that way that meant she was trying not to cry, and he knew that suddenly they were talking about something so much more than a classroom mishap. He cursed himself inwardly, fearing that he'd pushed his luck too far when she added softly, "but not as much as it did before."

"That's good," he was relieved to see her smile at him, "just wish I could do something to make it better...especially after all you've done to help me."

"Well I guess there's no better place for me to be than right here is there?"

He nodded sagely, "There's not...you should stay as long as possible...just to be safe." It was a lie, perhaps not as innocent as he wanted to believe; it was anything **but** safe to have her so close.

"Well, if you think that's best."

Hours later, when Madame Pomfrey had forcibly herded Hermione out the door to avoid missing curfew, Ron sat, left still tingling from her touch, smiling like a lunatic. He felt full to the brim with her company, but also oddly empty from her absence. Would there ever be a time when he didn't crave one more minute? One more smile? One more laugh? One more touch? He wasn't sure, but somehow he doubted it. With a sigh, he pulled the blankets up already anticipating tomorrow's visit. Ron Weasley had a brilliant night's rest, despite the textbook size lump protruding through one corner of his mattress.


End file.
